Would Jove appoint some flower to reign, in matchless beauty on the plain, the Rose (mankind will all agree). The Rose the queen of flowers should be.

All the while, believe me, I prayed our night would last twice as long.

Although only breath, words which I command are immortal.

In gold sandals / dawn like a thief / fell upon me.

Death is an ill; 'tis thus the Gods decide: / For had death been a boon, the Gods had died.

What cannot be said will be wept.

Love is a cunning weaver of fantasies and fables.